Not a Man of Emotions
by fourfivesecsfromhim
Summary: A series of one-shots containing stories of mainly Sherlock and Rosie's bonding. Contains fluff, mild swearing and a lot of emotions. Enjoy!
1. Sherlock Holmes, Babysitter

Hey guys!

This is my very first Sherlock fanfic. I've been working on this story for a long time and really hope you guys like it! Also, don't forget to let me know if you want to read more Sherlock and Rosie stories, and share your ideas with me, tell me what you'd like to read. I'm mostly good at fouff but willing to take requests for other types of stories too. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes never considered himself a man of emotions. It's not like anyone else did, anyway. He was a man of strict logic, rational thinking and consistency. He enjoyed the safety of routine, whether it was a daily or a weekly one. He liked the feeling of knowing the order of things and especially being able to control them, as he did with his own life - and John's, admittedly. Though the last few years his hold on Watson seemed to ease up it, due to his friend's marriage, moving out and most importantly, bringing a child into this world.

Sherlock Holmes never considered himself child-friendly either. It's not like anyone else did, anyway... obviously. Sherlock has always found children, from babies to pre-teens, quite confusing - as he did with adults, too. Teenagers were a different matter, however. They reminded him of himself when he was young and trying to find out who he really was - besides being a child genius and brother of two other, rather gifted children. (Not as gifted as him, of course... Not in the same way, anyway.) Teenagers also reminded him of the only time he wasn't in control of his own temper - besides his crack-phase, of course. In Sherlock's opinion, younger children, such as babies were controlled too much by their emotions, and they were too dependent. Not to mention expensive, nosy, loud and quite annoying. Being the person he is, he didn't miss out on any opportunity to share his views on children with John Watson, especially once he announced Mary and him were going to try and have a baby. Watson never missed out on an opportunity to let Sherlock know how dumb he thought his opinions were or how he wasn't actually interested them. Holmes defended himself by claiming "no one ever asked if you two are trying to have a baby or not", thus expressing his thoughts on this fact were not only allowed but also a right of his. Nevertheless, Mary and John did have a baby at some point. If Sherlock were a man of emotions, he would say it happened quite recently due to the child's fast growth. But since he was a man of facts, he knew it was almost 5 years ago. And he was not one to confuse 5 years with "recently". He wasn't a nitwit.

Or was he?

"Nitwit." He grunted loudly, running his hands over his face, before swiftly pushing himself to his feet. Because he was, in fact, at this moment, a nitwit. He was alone in his small apartment on Baker Street, in the middle of solving a crime. He wasn't too interested in the case, yet he took it, which was nothing like him. Sherlock Holmes only took cases he cared about - he didn't bother finding the missing exes of broken-hearted, lovesick souls. He was pretty sure their exes weren't missing either. They were far away with someone else. Being the man he is, he immediately shared his views with his miserable clients before sending them on their way within 2 minutes. He never understood why they left his apartment more upset than they came. He knew truth hurt, but not this much. Especially since these people got themselves in the situation they were in. They should've known better.

So yes. Sherlock Holmes, according to himself, at this moment, was indeed a nitwit. He should've been concentrating on the final stage of crime-solving which was sitting in silence with his eyes closed while thinking about the things he detected while doing research. Yet he was thinking about John Watson and his niggling family-stuff. _Nitwit. You're a nitwit, Holmes._

Sherlock also had a way of knowing things before they happened. He often had this feeling with John, and he was never once incorrect. It's not like John was a complicated man though, so no surprise in that. It was easy to tell whether he was going to give him bad or good news or just start a general (niggling) conversation with him. He could read John's facial expressions like a book. It's also why Watson was such a bad liar, too.  
Sherlock knew lots of things ahead while he was living with him, but this time was different. This time John was away, yet he had the same feeling - and even stronger, if possible. He felt like John could burst through the apartment door any minute - it wouldn't be the first time, after all. He did manage to surprise him those few times, he had to admit. Which was quite impressive.

"Sherlock!" there was an impatient knock on the door, and then a bang. "Sherlock!"

Despite his habit of never letting other people know when he was feeling unusually dandy, Sherlock smiled smugly as he recognized John's voice. Simply because he knew it. He never failed to amaze himself.  
He turned around as the door swung open, slowly and guardedly. However, the smirk adorning the detective's face soon turned into a frown as he realized John didn't come alone. Beside him stood his daughter Rosie, holding onto his hand tightly - more like his thumb, to be exact. Her fingers were tiny enough to just be able to wrap them around one of his father's.

"It's an emergency, Sherlock" Watson announced, his eyebrows furrowed together in worry as he led his little girl into the room and sat her on the couch, kneeling down to her height. "Stay here, sweetie. Uncle Sherlock's gonna look after you for a while."

Getting over his shock, Sherlock opened his mouth and raised his pointer finger, wanting to send a declining answer on its way but Watson was already by his side, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, Sherlock. A patient needs me in the hospital right now, I'm needed for a long operation." He explained quickly. "Mary's working late and I really need someone to watch Rosie."

Again, Sherlock raised his pointer finger, this time pointing at the door, but again, John was the faster one to speak.

"No, Mrs. Hudson can't watch her. She's been out of town for 3 days, she's visiting a friend. How come I know about this and you don't? You live here!" Although his voice contained more dismay than reproach, Sherlock closed his mouth, surprised. Strange, indeed. He must've been so caught up in work he didn't hear Mrs. Hudson saying goodbye - she never left without a goodbye. Although, now that he thought of it, he did remember a tiny question crossing his mind in the past few days about his morning tea. Since it didn't... happen.

"I'll be back somewhere between 8 and 9. Just keep her alive, alright?" John asked, using his friend's momentary silence to his advantage and already leaving, not forgetting to give Rosie a kiss on the forehead in the process though. For the 3rd time today, Sherlock raised his pointer finger to object, just to be interrupted again. "Just keep her alive!" Watson repeated before exiting the apartment and closing the door behind him. Moments later Sherlock could hear him running down the stairs. Indeed, he was in a rush.

Sherlock stared at the door for a few more seconds asif he could turn back time or just bring John back. He knew both of those were impossible but wasn't ready to turn around just yet. Once he calmed hiself down enough, he made a turn and faced the small girl sitting on his couch.

"Hello, Rosamund." He greeted the child, hoping to get at least a nod back but she didn't react. She was just staring at him wordlessly, sitting completely still.

At this moment, Sherlock had to hold himself back not to say something rude. Small children tended to stare at things or people randomly, he knew that. The only problem though, he hated being stared at. It made him extremely uncomfortable, especially when little kids did it, who, in his opinion, had no reason to do it. He knew the scientific reason as of why they did and how it helped them analize their surroundings and learn more about the world, but he also wished those kids would go somewhere else to learn. He narrowed his eyes at the girl, refusing to lose at this spontanious staring contest. However, the child proved to be very skilled at this game and Sherlock could feel a chill going down his spine as Rosie's face went from blank to frighteningly emotionless. He just couldn't take it.

"I have work to do so I'm afraid you're going to have to entertain yourself." Sherlock said finally, looking away. At that moment, an image crossed his mind of the little girl doing as told and wandering around the house, taking things off of shelves and all around making a mess. He had to think of something else. "I suggest watching TV." He walked over to the couch and picked up the remote control, turning on the TV and switching through the channels until he found a cartoon. Afterwards, he placed the remote back on the couch and tried to think of more things to say. "The bathroom is the second door on the right and and you can find something to eat and drink in the kitchen under the sink."

Sherlock took another glance at his unwelcomed guest and nearly groaned in frustration as she was still staring at him, looking the most life-like doll he has ever seen. He didn't want to be around her.

"I'll be in my office if you need me." He said for the sake of politeness, rushing towards his room faster than ever before. As he opened the door though, he stopped in his tracks for a slight moment. He turned his head back and looked at Rosie, returning her icy cold stare. "... Don't need me." His voice was hushed, but stern, letting her know he meant business. The child blinked, possibly for the first time she was here but didn't respond. With that, Sherlock entered his office and closed the door behind him, letting out a tired sigh as he leaned against the wall. _Wonderful_ , he thought. _I have to leave a room in my own house in order to get some privacy._

Suddenly, a small giggle could be heard from the living room. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but was kind of relieved: John's child seemed to be entertained by the programme she was watching, which meant she wasn't going to bother him. Sherlock sat down in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. As said before, this case wasn't a difficult one. Yet, as his thoughts were interrupted over and over again by the child's giggles, the frown on his face got deeper and deeper until his eyes finally snapped open. He couldn't take it. He couldn't work like this.

Instead, he took a piece of paper and started writing his thoughts down, ignoring the anger in the back of his mind. Never before did he bother to write anything down, considering his marvelous brainwork but desperate times called for desperate measures. He got to nearly half a page when he heard the TV getting switched off. He froze and stopped writing, pricking up his ears. He could hear the pitter-patter of small feet as they wandered around the living room. They weren't getting near his office though so he quickly relaxed and got back to writing.

For nearly twenty minutes, he was unbothered. His brain started working faster and faster and he could feel he was close to a breakthrough when suddenly, his office door opened. He looked up, surprised.

Rosie was standing at the door, and for the first time since she was in the apartment, she didn't seem to be interested in Sherlock. She looked around for a few seconds before wandering around the room, her hands behind her back. Sherlock watched her cautiously but quickly decided it was best to ignore her. He continued writing, getting caught up in work to the point where he nearly forgot the girl was even there. That was until she finally stopped walking around and went up to his desk, placing her chin on his desk. Sherlock looked at her, but only for a second. He was reluctant to take part in another stare-off. He had no time for such nonsense.

"Are you really my uncle?" The little girl suddenly asked, catching him off guard. He took another glance at her. She was looking at him curiously, eyes wide. Sherlock couldn't help but studied her face for a second, as he did with everyone he met. She has John's eyes, he thought. Unlike John's, though, she looks like she can see people's soul with them. He thought for a second before responding.

"No." He finally replied, getting back to his duties. He hoped this would be enough of an answer. It wasn't.

"Then why did Daddy say you're my uncle?"

Sherlock sighed tiredly, continuing to write. Their conversation barely started and he was already bored. Again, though, he wasn't the kind of person to lie about things in order to keep someone happy.

"Out of tradition, I guess. People with close friends tend to tell their children those people are their uncles and aunts, it's a way of making family out of friends. Either that or your father's ignorant. Which wouldn't be surprising, though in this field, it's unlikely."

Rosie had a thoughtful look on her face, trying to process everything she just heard. Sherlock hoped this would be her last question for the day. Repeatedly though, things just didn't seem to be working in his favor today.

"So you're Daddy's friend?"

Sherlock wrote down another sentence before pursing his lips together. Yes, John was his friend, surprisingly enough. Yet he still had a hard time saying this out loud.

"I suppose so, yes." He finally replied, not looking up. "I prefer the term co-worker though."

Rosie tilted her head to the right, watching Sherlock's expression.

"I don't think you like Daddy very much."

At this bluntly honest confession, Sherlock couldn't help but stopped writing and looked at Rosie again. She was looking at him accusingly, but nontheless calm. He slowly leaned back in his chair, challenging her, and crossing his arms over his chest.

"And what gives you that idea, may I ask?" He raised an eyebrow with genuine curiousity. Rosie didn't seem to be the least bit intimidated and continued.

"I always smile at my friends. You didn't smile at Daddy."

Sherlock looked the child in the eye, biting his lip. He could see where Rosie's statement was coming from but saw no reason why he should be continuing this conversation with her and convince her that in his own way, he did like John. In his own, special way. He looked down for a second before picking up his pen again and leaning forward, staring at his notes.

"I'm not a smiler." He said simply, continuing to write. He turned away from from Rosie, hoping she would get the message, the message of "leave me alone", but she didn't. Or even if she had, she didn't care much. Instead, she went around the desk to Sherlock's other side, placing her chin on his desk yet again. Sherlock sighed tiredly, letting his pen down and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was trying hard not to explode.

"Why?" The little girl asked. "Are you sad?"

Sherlock looked at Rosie again, nearly - but just nearly - smiling at her innocence. The little girl also seemed genuinely worried, which nearly - but just nearly - warmed his heart. He bit down on his lip to stop himself from smiling and shook his head.

"No. Like I said, I'm just not a smiler. I don't smile unless I have a special reason to."

The child tilted her again, this time to the left.

"Daddy says it's important to smile. It makes people happy around us."

 _Wow, John. Aren't you a ray of sunshine. Very wise indeed_. Sherlock snorted but decided not to voice his opinion this one time. Instead, he just shrugged and got back to writing. Rosie watched him for a few seconds before walking up to him and tiptoeing to be able to look at his notes. Sherlock took a quick glance at her, still writing.

"What are you doing?" The little girl asked.

The man rolled his eyes.

"Working."

Rosie tried to tiptoe higher, holding onto the desk.

"On what?"

Sherlock watched her attempts to try and take a look at his notes, sighing tiredly.

"Even if you'll be able to see it, you still can't read, you know."

The child turned towards Sherlock, this time angrily, and placed her hands on her hips.

"You're not very nice, you know." She told her with a serious look on her face.

"Quite the observement." Sherlock scoffed, still writing. "I'm not trying to be."

"Why are you so moody all the time?" Rosie asked, her eyebrows furrowed together. The man sighed.

"I'm not moody. I told you." Sherlock replied. The word "moody" sounded strange from his mouth; it was a word he hasn't used since he was a child.

"Yes you are!" The child stated firmly, her hands still on her hips. "Do you know what Daddy does when I'm moody?"

Sherlock was tired, really. He looked at Rosie, wanting to send another declining answer on its way to stop the girl from telling a long and boring story. However, she was faster, and what she did next was something Sherlock wasn't prepared for.

"This!" Rosie exclaimed, aiming at the man's abdomen and beggining to tickle him mercilessly. Sherlock's initial shock suddenly turned into outbursts of laughter as he squirmed around on his chair, eventually falling onto the ground. Rosie continued her vicious assault, going down to the ground with him, laughing right along with her victim, enjoying not being the ticklee for this one time.

Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he was tickled. It must've been when he was a small child, and he was very ticklish indeed, which his siblings often used against him. He couldn't help but giggled uncontrollably as Rosie's tiny fingers spidered up and down his stomach and once he was on the ground, on his ribs. He rolled back and forth, too weak to defend himself.

"S-stop!" He managed between chuckles. Rosie finally stopped and stood up, looking down at him triumphantly with a wide grin.

"I knew it!" She giggled. "I knew you'd smile!"

Sherlock stared at the little girl, panting, still in shock. He thought a bit asof what do before his inner child took over and he sat up a bit.

"Of course you realize..." His voice trailed off as he finally got his breathing under control. "This means war."

Rosie's eyebrows furrowed together. As Sherlock suddenly jumped up and reached for her, she let out a squeal of delight and started running as fast as she could, giggling all the way.

Sherlock found himself laughing too as he chased after her, eventually catching up to her near the couch in the living room. He swiftly grabbed her small, light-as-a-feather body under her arms and gently pushed her onto the couch, towering over her.

"No!" The little girl begged, shrieking with laughter as Sherlock leaned over her and pushed his fingers gently into her sides, wiggling them around to increase Rosie's agony.

Said child's laughter picked up more and more, causing Sherlock to join in as he continued to tickle her, careful to give her a short pause every now and then so she wouldn't feel sick. He continued until the little girl's face began to turn red. That was when he finally stopped and collapsed next to her on the couch, exhausted, but still smiling.

He was kind of taken aback as Rosie scooted closer to her, still shivering with laughter and leaned her small head on his shoulder. Sherlock soon stopped smiling and just sat there, trying to catch his breath. It was a long time since he'd chased anyone, aside from chasing criminals when he was working. The joyous laughter coming out of his mouth seemed strange just after a few seconds it happened. What was he doing before John's daughter attacked him? Oh, that's right, working. And he should probably get back on that.

Getting up from his seat, he gently slipped out from under Rosie and readjusted his jacket. The little girl followed suit.

"Where are you going?" She asked, clearly disappointed to see him leave. Sherlock turned around on his way to his office, this time allowing himself a small smile.

"I have to finish work, I'm afraid." He responded.

"I can help you!" The little girl said, enthusiastically. "I'm very smart!"

Sherlock smiled again, placing his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm sure you are, Rosamund, but this is very serious work. You can't help me, I'm afraid."

"I can be very serious! Look!" The little girl put her hands behind her back and made a serious face. Sherlock Holmes nearly melted at her cuteness, which was nothing like him. He supressed his smile, not wanting to hurt her feelings but shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Rosamund. This case isn't something a child your age-"

"It's Rosie!" The little girl exclaimed, her voice breaking a bit. Sherlock closed his mouth, surprised. He could see the little girl's lower lip beginning to tremble. "Daddy said you're really smart so you can finish work anytime, right? I don't wanna be alone! I miss Mommy and Daddy!" With that, Rosie began crying softly, burying her face in her hands.

Sherlock watched her tiny shoulders shake, each and every sob getting louder. He froze. Never before was he in a situation where he had to comfort a child, especially of this age and he didn't know what to do. After all, as said before, he wasn't a man of emotions. After a few minutes of standing there, he sighed and went up to the girl, kneeling down to her height. His mother often did the same when he was upset as a child, opening her arms invitingly for a hug. He always felt better after a cuddle session, - at least when he was young - and, having nothing else in mind, he offered Rosie the same.

Sure enough, Rosie immediately wrapped her small arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. Sherlock could feel her tears hitting his shoulder, seeping through his thin jacket. He placed one arm around her waist while running his other hand through her hair, whispering comforting words into her ear.

After a few minutes, Rosie's crying seemed to subside and she slowly let go of his jacket, pulling away the slightest bit. As Sherlock's eyes studied her face, his arms still around her, she ran her fingers over the wet patch her tears had left on his shoulder. Shortly after, she let her arm down and looked him in the eye.

"I don't wanna be alone." She whispered again, her voice still trembling a bit. Sherlock sighed deeply before looking at her.

"Your father was right. I am very smart." Rosie chuckled a bit through the remainder of her tears and Sherlock smiled a bit too. "I can finish work later, I suppose." Rosie smiled at him happily, and he reached out to gently wipe one last tear off her cheek. "Now, Rosie." He said gently. "I can't get your parents, they're both very busy now. Is there anything else that would make you feel better?"

Rosie thought for a bit before her face lit up.

"Cookies!" She suddenly exclaimed, grinning happily. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Cookies make you feel better?"

The little girl shrugged, looking away for a bit.

"Most of the time, yeah."

Sherlock couldn't help but let out a tiny chuckle, making Rosie giggle as well. Finally, he sighed.

"I can try and make some chocolate chip cookies." He suggested. As he saw the little girl's grin, he quickly raised his pointer finger. "But-" he added. "This is my first time baking so I can't promise you it'll be good."

Rosie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head to the left with a thoughtful expression.

"Are you smart or not?"

Sherlock threw his head back, laughing loudly before standing up and looking down at her.

"Very much so." He teased, giving her tummy a little tickle, grinning as she giggled. "I can start now if you like. You can either help me or do something else, like watch TV or draw. I have plenty of paper and pencils."

"I wanna help you!" Rosie beamed, lifting her arms up into the air. Automatically, Sherlock leaned down and picked her up, sitting her on his hip. He walked over to the kitchen and put her on the counter.

"Alright." He rubbed his hands together, looking around. "Let's get started."

* * *

"That's a weird shape." Rosie observed, looking at the cookie dough neatly arranged in the pan. Instead of little balls, the soon-to-be cookies were completely shapeless, just chunks of dough with chocolate chips.

"It'll work itself out." Sherlock assured, though he wasn't actually sure. As far as he knew, it could also be a disaster. He's never done anything like this before.

"Well, now it's time to put this in the oven." He said, apparently, to himself. Rosie was distracted by drawing something on a piece of paper Sherlock gave her once she got bored "helping" him. More like when she got done making a mess and blowing flour at him. The detective didn't appreciate the mess all over the kitchen, but was nontheless laughing along with Rosie when it happened. The child's laughter was contagious, and Sherlock couldn't help but smiled everytime he heard it.

Once the man put the cookies in the oven, he arched his back and tiredly yawned. Just then, the little girl turned to him with a wide grin, holding her drawing up high.

"Look what I drew!"

Sherlock gently took the piece of paper and looked at it. In the corner, as usual, was the sun, a few houses in the distance, and in the middle were four people. He instantly recognized John and Mary because of their height and smiled _. Oh John_ , he thought. _You're a hobbit, even your daughter knows._ Beside Mary was a little girl, obviously Rosie. What surprised him was the man standing next to her. Sherlock quickly recognized his long coat, along with his curly hair and blue eyes. He had to admit, John's daughter was quite observant. The man on the picture also looked ridiculously happy and at first, Sherlock looked at him repugnancy before he finally understood. This was him, as seen by Rosie. This is what she actually thought of him.

He slowly lowered his hand, looking deep into Rosie's eyes. Her bright blue eyes were shining with happiness as she looked at him, expectingly. Sherlock couldn't help but smiled and reached out to smooth her hair down. It felt strangely familiar, familiar as breathing... Even natural. He kept his hand on her head for a second before gently stroking her cheek.

"It's beautiful, Rosie." He smiled genuinely and gently tapped her nose, making the little girl giggle. He handed her the picture back but Rosie refused.

"It's yours." She said shyly, smiling smally at him with a hint of blush on her face. "I drew it for you."

Sherlock opened his mouth, shocked, but quickly closed it again. He looked at the drawing, studying it once again. It wasn't that pretty at all, if he wanted to be honest. But there was something pure about it that he really liked and he wouldn't have said no anyway. He'll just keep it on the shelf or something, it's fine.

"Thank you, Rosie." He smiled, reaching out yet again and ruffled her hair. "I know just the place to put it."

The little girl looked so happy that Sherlock immediately felt guilty, but quickly got it out of his head. He wasn't a man of emotions, after all. Not at all.

"Alright." He clapped softly, turning around and looking around in the living room. "The cookies will be ready in about 40 more minutes. Meanwhile, we could-"

"Piggyback ride!" Rosie squealed, and Sherlock soon felt a tiny body jumping on his back. He yelped in surprise but nonetheless caught her.

"Piggyback ride?" He asked, looking at the small girl as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "To where?"

Rosie shook her head firmly, pointing forward.

"Horses don't talk. Onward, trusty steed!"

Sherlock turned his head again, confused.

"I thought I was a pig."

Rosie looked at him, equally confused before shrugging.

"Pigs don't talk either." She stated, pointing forward again. "Onward, trusty pig!"

Seeing no better option, Sherlock sighed and began running, rolling his eyes. His frustration was gone in a minute once he heard Rosie giggling, and soon he was not only laughing along with her, but also making pig noises as he ran around, just to get more and more laughter out of her. He couldn't believe himself, but also couldn't stop playing. It's been too long.

* * *

"One more round! Just one more!"

Sherlock was standing near the couch, exhausted, with Rosie still on his back. He lost his jacket somewhere along the way, he didn't even remember when. They've been running around - well, he's been running around - for the last 30 minutes with barely any pause, and he just had to stop for breath.

"Piggy's tired, Rosie." He wheezed, lowering her gently onto the couch before arching his back, stretching his arms a bit. "Besides," He turned to Rosie, raising an eyebrow at her. "We have some cookies to check on, remember?"

Rosie nodded excitedly and followed Sherlock into the kitchen. The little girl crouched down as Sherlock leaned down and opened the fridge, putting on gloves before pulling the stove out.

"Wow!" Rosie whispered in awe. The dough was flat now, just as it needed to be and and smelled amazing. She reached out touch a cookie but Sherlock quickly grabbed her small hand, pulling it gently away from the hot pan.

"No, no." He reprimanded, calmly but sternly. "No touching the pan without gloves." Rosie nodded and pulled her hand back, watching as Sherlock gently ran one of his gloved hand over a cookie. He poked it lightly a few more times before grimacing. "Nah, they're not so good yet. Another ten minutes at least, I'm afraid."

Rosie groaned.

"I wanna eat them now, though! I'm hungry!"

"Ten more minutes." Sherlock repeated, taking off his gloves and tossing them onto the counter. "We're gonna have fun until then, trust me. Go and get me some more paper and pencils from my office, please. I've got something to show you." He winked mysteriously.

Rosie nodded excitedly and ran away. Sherlock was good at drawing, as he was good at many other things, too. He figured he could teach the little girl some new things since she already seemed to be interested in art, and was a pretty good observer for her age.

Sherlock turned around and looked out of the window. He frowned as he looked at sky. Dark, big clouds gathered together, and soon he could hear the first rumble. He knew this was going to be a big storm, since it often rained in Britain but rarely rumbled. The rumbles got louder and louder, until rain started pouring as well. _Yup. Huge storm._

He walked back to the kitchen and took another quick look at the cookies again, though he knew they still needed some time. After closing the oven, he leaned against the counter and waited, crossing his arms over his chest. He waited and waited, but Rosie didn't show up. Sherlock's boredom soon turned into worry and he pushed himself away from the counter.

"Rosie?" He asked, his voice ringing through the apartment. No answer. No sound came from his office, either. "Rosie?" He repeated, this time a bit louder and started walking in the direction of his office. "Rosie, do you need any help?" He stopped on his way when he heard a small whimper coming from his room. Than another, and another.

He started running, bursting through the door and looking around in his office. Soon enough, another whimper could be heard and he was finally able to detect where the noise was coming from. He dropped to his knees and looked under his desk, his heart turning into mush. Bingo.

Rosie was hiding under the desk, curling up in a tiny ball and hugging her knees to her chest, crying softly. She was scared to death.

"Aw, Rosie, it's okay!" Sherlock quickly took her in his arms and gently lifted her out from under the desk, holding her protectively to his chest. "It's just a little storm, Rosie! You don't need to be afraid!"

As Rosie continued crying into his shoulder, he walked back to the living room with her in his arms, rubbing her back gently and rocking her as he whispered comforting words into her ear. With every single crash, the tiny girl grabbed onto his shirt tighter and tighter and he held her closer to him, careful not to squeeze her small body too tight.

"It's just a little storm Rosie, it can't hurt you." He repeated gently, rubbing the back of her head. "It'll be over soon."

The girl however, didn't seem to be calming down. Her sobs got more and more intense until the point that she was hiccupping. That's when Sherlock got the idea of trying a different approach. He brought her closer to the window and gently unhooked one of her arms from his neck.

"Hey, Rosie." He whispered, attempting to turn her towards the window but she refused. "Rosie, look!" He pointed out the window. The little girl finally lifted her head and looked out the window, still sniffling. "One..." Sherlock counted. "Two. Three." Lightning flashed and the whole street glistened in light for a second. Rosie was so surprised she forgot to cry, looking at Sherlock with awe.

"Did you do that?"

Sherlock held back a chuckle and shook his head, looking out the window again.

"It's called lightning, Rosie. It can't hurt you. Though it is a bit loud."

Indeed, a huge bang came and Rosie jumped, but didn't start crying this time. She was waiting for another lighting. Which came soon enough.

"It's pretty!" She giggled, watching the street light up again. Sherlock smiled, wrapping her up tighter.

"I know, see? I told you! You have nothing to be afraid of."

Thunder crashed and lighting came, over and over again. Rosie was silent, watching in awe and Sherlock couldn't help but melted everytime he looked at her. She was so freaking innocent.

Seconds and minutes passed, and the two of them were still watching the storm in comfortable silence. That was until Rosie softly spoke up.

"I love you, Uncle."

Sherlock froze for a second, unable to move. Soon enough though, he could feel warmness spreading over his heart as he smiled, touched, and placed his chin on top of her head.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, readjusting her on his hip and continuing to rock her with a smile on his face. Just a few second later, he looked down and saw Rosie sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. He smiled even wider.

"Rosie!" John burst through the apartment door and Sherlock quickly turned around, pressing his pointer finger to his lips, immediately shushing him. John looked at his sleeping little girl in his friend's arms and sighed in relief, placing a hand over his racing heart.

"Thank God, she hates storms!" He rushed over to Sherlock and opened his arms. It took a few seconds until Sherlock gently unlocked Rosie's small arms from around his neck and placed her into his father's arms. She didn't seemed to be bothered by this change at all. It wasn't surprising though: she and Sherlock had a tiring afternoon. She was exhausted.

"Was everything okay? Was she good?" John whispered, rocking the girl in his arms. Sherlock watched her sleep, nodding.

"No problem at all. She was fine."

John looked at him suspiciously. He knew Sherlock didn't like kids too much. Still, as he looked into his friend's eyes, he saw something else than before. Sherlock was looking at his daughter caringly, and almost lovingly. _What if Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart_? John thought. _Terrifying idea_.

He wanted to ask something else regarding the afternoon when a strange smell hit his nose. He sniffed into the air a few times, scrunching up his nose.

"What's that smell?" He asked.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked around, sniffing into the air himself. Realization dawned on his face.

"Burnt chocolate chip cookies." He admitted, slightly embarrassed. John's eyebrows furrowed together.

"You bake?" He asked in disbelief. "Since when?"

"I started no too long ago, actually." Sherlock looked at his watch, which was a sign for John, meaning it was time to leave. "Apparently, I'm not the best at it just yet."

John chuckled lightly and nodded, heading for the door.

"Well, thank you for watching Rosie tonight, Sherlock." He said as he opened the apartment door, looking back at him. "You really saved my butt."

Sherlock nodded, smiling smally.

"My pleasure."

John Watson had never been so confused in his life. He searched Sherlock's face for signs of lying, but ended up even more confused, not finding any. Finally, Sherlock broke the uncomfortable silence by clearing his throat and looking at his watch again. John nodded and stepped out the door.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight."

Sherlock closed the door behind John, standing in front of the door for a few more seconds.

"Goodnight, little Rosie." He finally whispered, letting out a smile.

The next minute, the smell of the burning cookies hit his nose again. His eyes widened.

Sherlock Holmes learnt a lot that day. For example, he learnt that being around some kids is not as bad as it actually seems, and that some of them are smarter than people would think. He also learnt that a 4-year-old can be very heavy after 30 minutes of running around with it on his back. He learnt how important it is to always pay attention when baking. But the most important thing he learnt was by far the most interesting one. He learnt that in some cases, he _was_ a man of emotions. Either that or he went crazy, because Rosie's drawing somehow ended up on his bedroom wall that night. And Sherlock enjoyed looking at it. More than looking at any prize he owned.

* * *

Thank you for reading, you guys! Let me know what you think! :)


	2. Lessons (sequeal)

Hey guys!

I'm back with another one-shot. Basically, it's about John thinking spanking is a right method of discipline and Sherlock disagreeing. It's also about a very emotional Sherlock, which is quite rare.

Enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes never considered himself child-friendly. It's not like anyone else did, anyway... But tonight, something was different. And not only in his behaviour.

John and him were working on a case together for the first time in months. Sherlock kind of understood why Watson wasn't able to spend as much time working with him. He had his family, and although Mary was easy to get along with, their daughter Rosie set up new challenges for her parents every single day. In Sherlock's opinion, Mary and John were great parents and were very patient and caring towards the little girl. This is exactly why Sherlock was confused this afternoon. Since Mary was working late, John had brought Rosie along to Baker Street, and he seemed rather upset about something. When he asked him what was wrong, John explained that Rosie's been misbehaving all day and he just couldn't get through to her with anything. Sherlock only nodded then and took a glance at little Rosie, who was at that moment running around in the living room and hopping around on the furniture. He couldn't help but smiled lightly - he enjoyed walking around on furniture just as much. She might've gotten this "bad habit" from him the other night when he was babysitting her. It was a fun night.

The case John and him were currently working on was rather interesting: it all started with a young lady bursting through their apartment door at 2 am and whispering the words "help me" before collapsing on the floor. At least that's what the woman told the detective and his blogger after Sherlock found her at 8 in the morning. He did hear a strange noise earlier, somewhere around 2 am but was reluctant to get up and check. He figured that if someone wanted to murder him, they'd be in his room in seconds so he just decided to wait a bit. But no one came, and so Sherlock peacefully went back to sleep and slumbered wonderfully throughout the night. Once he was up the next morning, he was rather surprised to find a young lady lying on the floor in front of the door. He waited until she woke up, sipping on his morning tea.

"Help!" Shrieked said woman, suddenly jerking awake, causing Sherlock to jump and not only choke on his tea but also spill it all over himself. Sherlock spent the next few minutes coughing while the woman stood there, apologizing desperately. Once Sherlock caught his breath, he put his mug down and pointed at the chair.

"Sit down, please. I rarely have clients this early."

The woman, still embarrassed, lowered her bag next to the chair as she lowered herself onto it, brushing a bit of hair out of her face.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Holmes" she said quietly, not looking into his eyes. "I must have fainted once I got here. I didn't mean to sleep on your floor all evening. I assure you this is nothing like me."

Sherlock shrugged.

"Please. I'm used to strange cases, Miss..." His voice trailed off as if he was looking for her name in his mind, though they both knew she didn't give it to him.

"Erica Sangster" the woman extended her hand and Sherlock firmly shook it. "A friend of mine told me about you, Mr. Holmes. I..." She sighed deeply, trying to calm her breathing before she spoke up again. "I had something very strange happen to me yesterday, late in the afternoon. I don't think anyone could help me but you."

Sherlock looked deep into the girl's ocean-like, blue eyes and begun his deductions. Her hair was freshly cut which she already regretted since she kept trying to pull her collar up to be able to hide her short locks. She must have also visited a nail salone a few weeks ago: the polish was already wearing off a bit and she also seemed to bite it, most likely out of habit and newly, out of nervousness. The dirt on her shoes was a perfect map to show where she came from and how she came: the only part of town that had much rain yesterday was the west side and her shoes were covered in fresh mud, meaning she lived near a lake. If she had enough time to think about all of this, she likely would've taken a taxi and changed her shoes but she was frightened. It was obvious she didn't drive. A woman like her would keep her car keys on the same chain as the others, yet there were no more than 2 keys on the chain she was holding, none of them being car keys. Besides, judging by her thick glasses she had incredibly bad eyesight. She blinked frequently as if she had just recently taken out her contacts; they must've irritated her eyes. The hair on her clothing belonged to 2 cats, a red and a white one. The fact that she came alone was the proof that she wasn't in a serious relationship with anyone, let alone marriage. She was around the age of 24 yet she already haid a few grey hairs. It must've been stress.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock looked up at Ms. Sangster. The woman looked genuinely worried; Sherlock hasn't spoken a word for the last 3 or so minutes.

"Yes, sorry" Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands together and tucking them under his chin, in his usual "thinking-detective" pose. The idea of calling John to help him crossed his mind for a second but he didn't want to wake his friend up at such an early hour. "Tell me what happened and we'll see what we can do."

The modesty in his voice was something he learnt from John. He was damn sure he'd be able to solve the case. The woman who came in was simple. Ordinary people were simple. The cases of these people at most kept him occupied for 2 or 3 days, because he was a genius. A high-functioning sociopath. As such, he was now desperately craving a serious, brainwork-requiring, thought-provoking, hard case. That... or cocain. But he knew better. John would've killed him anyway.

"Alright" the young lady gulped and ran her shaking hand through her hair before starting. "I... Yesterday..." She gulped one more time before speaking up. "I found my brother's dead body on the kitchen floor." Tears filled her eyes as she began to sniffle. Sherlock felt a pang go through his heart but began to feel uncomfortable, ad he did everytime someone started crying. He didn't know how to handle it. He looked towards John's chair _. He'd know what to do._

"I'm sorry" the girl finally caught her breath. "Mr. Holmes..." Sherlock looked up at her at the mention of his name. "My brother's been dead for 5 years." Sherlock's eyes widened as he leaned on his knees. The woman sniffled once more. "Someone dug up his grave and brought him to my house."

Sherlock was thrilled. He tried not to sound too happy or excited as he asked the girl a series of questions. Showing sympathy wasn't one of his strengths but with the help of John, he could at least try and act like it. It worked well, most of the time.

Within just 4 hours, Sherlock asked the woman everything he needed to know and took a cab to her house, promising he'd get Watson sometime in the afternoon to take a look at the body. Sherlock found shocking and confusing clues in that house but only once he got back to 221B did he allow himself to let loose and do a bit of a happy dance. He was on fire.

Now he was pacing around in the room, telling Watson about all the informations he knew was appropriate to say around Rosie. It's not like she was paying any attention to them though.

"There were blood stains in the sink, John." He stated as he stopped in front of the window and looked out of it, more out of habit than anything else. "It obviously couldn't have been the brother's. He's way too dead."

John frowned at that. Sherlock Holmes was the only person that could say "way too dead" about a person and get away with it.

"Rosie, I've asked you to stop hopping around the furniture." The calmness in his voice was forced and Sherlock turned around just enough to be able to take a look at him: he was clenching his teeth and angrily typing away on his laptop. Rosie just rolled her eyes and ran in the other direction. John shot her a reprimanding glance.

"Do you think it belongs to the person who took the body?" He asked Sherlock before turning towards Rosie. "Rosamund, stop playing with the kitchen knives!" He raised his voice with anger and ran after the girl. Sherlock watched as he yanked the objects out of her hand and grabbed Rosie, a bit more violently than necessary. He drug her to a nearby chair and sat her down, pointing a finger at her. "You misbehave one more time it'll end in tears."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed together. _He couldn't possibly mean... Could he? After seeing so much violence..._

"You were saying?" John looked up at him. Rosie was staring at the ground, bouncing a ball in her hands. She seemed ready to burst anytime. She was defiant. Like John.

"Umm..." It took Sherlock a few more seconds to be able to focus again. "I don't think so. The girl... Erica Sangster's a bit suspicious for me. I just have this feeling about her. I don't know what it is..." His voice trailed off as he tried to get to the bottom of this case. "Not yet."

What happened next was extremely quick. Sherlock took a quick glimpse at Rosie and could already tell. She was staring at John's laptop furiously, raising the ball in her hand. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"ROSAMUND MARY WATSON!"

As soon as the ball hit John's laptop, John jumped up with rage, causing the laptop to crash to the ground and grabbed Rosie who was now screaming in terror.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU?"

"JOHN!"

Sherlock didn't remember ever shouting at Watson like that but he just couldn't believe his eyes.

"JOHN, STOP IT!"

He rushed over to the two of them where Rosie was crying histerically, desperately trying to wiggle off his father's leg, screaming for mercy as he pulled her over his knee for a spanking. He's already lifted up his skirt - more like yanked it up - and seemed to think about removing her stockings, too. Sherlock had to put an end to this.

"JOHN!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, pulling Rosie firmly but gently off his father's lap and placing the screaming girl behind him. "JOHN, CALM DOWN!"

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" John nearly knocked Sherlock over while trying to reach for Rosie but he held him back. "SHE NEEDS TO LEARN!"

"JOHN!" Seeing no better option, Sherlock pushed John against the wall, pinning him to it tight. "JUST CALM DOWN!"

"LET ME GO, SHERLOCK!" John wiggled around like crazy but Sherlock managed to use his bigger frame against him.

"LOOK AT YOURSELF, JOHN!"

John froze. He was still breathing heavily but stopped moving, looking into Sherlock's eyes. He never thought he'd ever see him worried. Especially this worried.

"John..." Sherlock was also gasping for air. He kept a firm grip on his shoulder as he spoke. "You're not thinking straight. You need to calm down." He whispered the last sentences so Rosie couldn't hear them. "This isn't the right thing to do and you know it. Go get some fresh air and come back once you cooled down. This is _not_ you."

John's heavy breathing slowly but surely calmed down. Sherlock was right. He could feel it. The anger raging inside him was out of this world. But he was not one to break his promises.

"It's very right, Sherlock, and I _have_ to do it. If this is the only way to get through to her, then so be it. I'm not going to hurt her. It won't be more than 3 or 4 taps."

"You won't be able to control your strength." Sherlock didn't think spanking in general was a good idea but Watson seemed really determinated. "Not like this. You need to take a walk or something. Don't do this. Not now."

"Sherlock." John looked into his friend's eyes, his voice hushed but serious. "It has to happen now, or else she won't learn anything. You can't stop me, Sherlock. She needs to learn her lesson."

At this point, Sherlock knew he couldn't convince John. Instead, he tried something else. His heart was beating fast with nervousness but it was for Rosie's own good. He took a deep breath.

"Let me do it then."

John's eyes widened. He glanced over Sherlock's shoulder at a still crying Rosie. She couldn't hear them.

"You?" John's voice was full of doubt and shock, lowering his volume even more. "Why you?"

"Because you're too upset to do it right and I'm not. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to control my strength and comfort Rosie after. For her own good. It has to be me."

A spanking "done right". No spanking was "done right", Sherlock new it. But he couldn't think of anything else.

John once again peered over at Rosie who was shaking with fear. Of him. Not Sherlock, but him. Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe he wouldn't be capable to do this right.

"You sure?" He looked deep into Sherlock's eyes. He knew he hasn't handled anything like this before but he trusted him. He was a calm and deliberate man. He knew Sherlock wouldn't hurt his little girl.

Sherlock nodded, his heart starting to race.

"Go and take a walk, John. I got this."

As he let go of John's shirt, the man took a few breaths and slowly nodded before taking his coat and walking out the door. Sherlock wasn't able to turn around just yet. He's never been this nervous before.

"Uncle?" A tiny, shaking voice interrupted his thoughts and he closed his eyes tightly. _He had to be firm. He had to do this. He didn't want to, but he had to_.

Slowly, he turned around and faced his goddaughter. She was still upset but she wasn't scared anymore. She obviously thought her dad leaving meant she got out of the spanking. Sherlock wished more than anything she was right.

"Come, Rosamund. Sit down." He sat down where John was sitting before and patted the seat next to him. He was sweating bullets. _You can do this, Holmes. You can do this._

"Uncle..." Rosie's voice was now uncertain, asif she knew something wasn't right. Her lower lip trembled the slightest bit and fear slowly returned to her face. Sherlock's heart broke into a million pieces.

"Let's just talk, sweetheart. Come here." He said as calmly as possible.

He hoped the word "talk" would calm the girl down enough to sit down next to him. He didn't want to chase her or pull her. He felt like a monster already.

Thankfully, Rosie did calm down a bit and slowly walked over to him, lowering herself onto the seat next to him. Sherlock sighed deeply, turning towards the little girl and looked deep into her eyes. That immediately made him look down. She was still a bit scared.

"Rosie." Sherlock started, pursing his lips together. "Do you know why your dad was so angry with you?"

Rosie hung her head down, staring at her feet.

"Because I threw the ball at his laptop."

"No, Rosie." Sherlock's voice was hushed, but stern. "That's not why."

Rosie shrugged.

Sherlock sighed. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible but he also wanted to make sure the little girl understood what she was being punished for.

"Rosie, your dad's been very worried about you today. Look at me, please." He tried to sound as gentle as possible, and Rosie looked into his eyes. _Shit_ , Sherlock thought. _I just made this 100 times harder_. "He may have seemed angry, but he was worried. You nearly hurt yourself multiple times today because you kept disobeying him. That is naughty behaviour, Rosie. This can't happen again. I have to make sure of that."

Rosie knew what was happening. Sherlock didn't grab at her arm or touch her yet, which made her calm enough not to run away, but she started to sniffle. Sherlock closed his eyes shut.

"I don't want to do this, Rosie" he told the crying little one. His own eyes prickled. "I really don't. But your dad would have been too harsh and I didn't want you to get hurt." He extended a hand towards her, trying to bring his shaking under control. "Come here, Rosie. Please don't make me chase you. It won't hurt too much, I promise. It'll be over soon."

His voice cracked in the middle of the last sentence but he managed to keep a straight face. Rosie's eyes were welled with tears but she complied. She probably saw no other option.

As the little girl walked towards him, Sherlock felt his heart sink and a lump forming in his throat, but he tried not to show too mamy emotions just yet. He'd need all of it once they were done to be able to comfort Rosie. God, he wished they were there yet.

Rosie arrived next to him just as he took his jacket off and rolled his sleeve up on his right arm, making sure nothing else would come in contact with her backside but his open hand. He gently took her wrist and she allowed him to bend her over his knee, bottom up. She was crying softly.

"I love you, my dear." Sherlock whispered as he rubbed her back before placing it firmly on her hip to keep her in place. "You're okay. It'll be over soon."

He gently pulled her thick skirt back, just to be able to tell how hard to spank. He could cover Rosie's entire small bottom with his hand and he was terrified of screwing this up. Hell, he already screwed up when he didn't convince John to find another method of discipline. This whole thing was screwed up.

But he couldn't turn back now, could he? He gave Rosie's back another reassuring rub before lifting his right hand in the air and keeping it there. He couldn't bring himself to bring his hand down. He just couldn't.

Tears started raining down his face, this time he couldn't fight them back. He quickly wiped his sleeve across his face and lifted his hand again, determinated to bring it down this time.

"Sherlock!" His head whipped up at the calling of his name. Mrs. Hudson was standing at the door in utter disbelief, with tea in her hands. "What is going on here?"

Sherlock barely had time to shift Rosie into a sitting position on his lap before he started crying, unable to make out a word. His entire body was shaking as he did. He could hear Mrs. Hudson putting the tea down.

"Sherlock!" Moments later, said man felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around his neck and he squeezed a crying Rosie close to him, as tight as he could without hurting her. Mrs. Hudson ran up to the two and hugged both of them, placing her chin on top of his head. He never saw Sherlock Holmes cry before.

* * *

It was almost 6 o'clock when John finally got back home. Not home, but back to 221B. He kept having to remind himself that he didn't live on Baker Street anymore. It sure felt like home though.

Once he came through the door, he was surprised to see Sherlock sitting in the living room, waiting for him. It also seemed a bit asif he'd been crying but John couldn't tell for sure. He was Sherlock Homes after all. Whoever heard of Sherlock Holmes crying?

"Hello." He greeted, stopping a few meters away from him. "How are things? You alright?"

Sherlock nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. He didn't seem alright.

"With you?"

John sighed before nodding and sitting down on the couch across Sherlock, leaning on his knees.

"Good." He kept bopping his head up and down. "I got things sorted out in my head, I guess."

Sherlock nodded. In John's opinion, he was unusually quiet.

"How..." He tried to get his thoughts together before continuing. "How did it go? With the... You know."

Sherlock looked up at him. His eyes showed hurt and he immediately looked down. John felt a pang go through his heart.

"Sherlock." He shifted a little closer to him and reluctantly placed a hand on his knee. He knew Sherlock didn't like to be touched but he didn't know how else to do this. "I know it's not easy, mate. It hurts you more than it hurts her."

Sherlock had to hold himself back from shouting "f*ck that sh*t". He hated that phrase. It would've hurt both of them bad, just not in the same way.

"Have you ever done it before?" He asked John, staring at his friend's hand on his knee. John sighed before slowly removing his hand and leaning back on the sofa. He shook his head.

"Today... would've been the first time." He looked down, guilty. "I can't thank you enough for taking it over. You were right. I couldn't have done it the right way."

Sherlock looked up at John before taking a quick glance towards the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson was hiding behind the wall, patiently waiting. She gave Sherlock a reassuring nod. Sherlock nodded back. It was time.

"I didn't do it, John."

No one spoke. The room grew uncomfortably quiet. Sherlock couldn't read John's facial expression.

"I couldn't." Sherlock finally said. "I'm sorry." His eyebrows furrowed together before he shook his head and looked John straight in the eye. "No, I'm not. I'm not sorry at all. Spanking isn't right, John. You have to acknowledge this."

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock!" John threw his head back in disbelief. "If you're planning on showing me studies and researches on spanking you might as well give up now because-

"He won't."

Mrs. Hudson's unexpected voice immediately cut John off and he looked around, rather confused.

"He won't because I already told him you wouldn't care about such things." The landlady walked into the living room and sat next to John, giving him a stern look. "Although the data he found is quite convincing. However, I had three children on my own and I trust you'll take a bit of advice from me, John Watson. I need to have a talk with you."

John didn't like being talked to as a child and felt more than embarrassed. His cheeks were flushed.

"Mrs. Hudson-"

"It's my turn to talk, young man." She told him firmly, causing him to shut his mouth immediately. Sherlock smiled smally. Without Hudders, England really would fall. "All I'm asking you is to listen. What you do with that advice afterwards is up to you."

Still blushing, John sighed and nodded.

"Very well, then." He said. "I'm listening.

If anyone would've told John Watson a few hours ago that Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock Holmes would talk him out of spanking his daughter, he would've laughed. He wasn't laughing now.

He was ashamed. Sitting next to Mrs. Hudson still, he buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply. He couldn't believe he had been so blind. Clearly, respect can't be taught by violence. Even if it's "mild".

Soon enough, he felt Mrs. Hudson's fragile but strong hand on his back, rubbing it gently.

"You see, Sherlock" Mrs. Hudson smiled. "No need for all those studies."

John shook his head before standing up and hanging his head down, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Actually, I might take a look at them sometime." He admitted quietly. "Thank you... you two. I didn't know I needed this but I did. I... I was so stupid."

Sherlock tilted his head to the right.

"Have you learnt your lesson, John Watson?" He teased, keeping a straight face. John laughed through his nose, nodding slowly.

"I did, I did. For a lifetime."

"One Watson learned his lesson without being hit." Sherlock observed, looking into John's eyes. "So will the other one."

John smiled at him in disbelief before shaking his head and putting out his hand for a handshake. Sherlock shook his hand immediately, and the two smiled at each other, thinking about all the things they've learned from each other.

Mrs. Hudson said goodbye to them a few minutes later with a kiss on both of their heads - appreciated by John, not so much by Sherlock. Rosie was sleeping in Sherlock's room and John stayed the night since they had a lot of work to do. Watson gave the case the title "The Teleporting Body".

John Watson never even thought of spanking his daughter after that night. The lesson he learnt was something he'd never forget, thanks to Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock Holmes.

His family.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave some feedback bellow and feel free to give me any suggestions if you have some! Have a great day! :)

~ fourfivesecsfromhim


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